Risking it All for a Lady's Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Aria Norton

Knowing Nash, he would do it. Her husband-to-be was not a conventional man in the slightest. Freddi had no idea what to expect of their marriage, but what she did know was that she would not be disappointed.

  ***

  Nash leaned down closer to her, whispering into her ear. “My father is on his way here, brace yourself.”

  “You are not helping me by saying such things, Lord Salisbury.”

  He moved away, mirth in his eyes. “I am simply warning my wife, Lady Salisbury.”

  What a jester he is. But Lord Blackmore was indeed coming towards them. While he had not precisely been rude to her in the months leading up to the wedding, he was not kind either. I do not know what he will say. I hope he does not embarrass Nash or I, it is our wedding after all. Nash took her hand, kissing the back.

  “Do not fret, my love, I am right here with you.”

  Freddi nodded, focusing on her breathing. Lord Blackmore came to stand before them, his gaze serious.

  “Look,” he began. “I am not the gentlest of men, neither do I make it a habit of being nice. However, you are now a part of the family, Frederica, and I believe that I may have been wrong about you.”

  Freddi's eyes were as wide as saucers. “Well, uh, thank you, Lord Blackmore.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps in time to come, we might start to act like a family.”

  Nash left his seat, going to his father. “We would like that, Father. You are welcome at our house at any time.”

  Nash hugged the Marquis. Freddi thought that the man would just stand there, but when she saw a tentative hand come up, she held her breath. Is he going to return the embrace?

  Surprise mingled with happiness filled her when the Marquis' hand connected with Nash's back. Nash has always wanted a relationship with his father, perhaps this is the start. Freddi could see that her husband was overcome with emotion as he stood back, touching his hands to his eyes.

  “No need to get emotional,” said Lord Blackmore.

  But his voice was gruff, indication of his own emotion. This is a wonderful start to our marriage. We have a new home just on the other side of Alfriston, I have a mother once again, and Lord Blackmore is warming up to me. These are all blessings out of a tragedy.

  Freddi missed her parents every day, but they did not leave her completely alone. They brought Nash back to her, a man who was always destined to be her husband. You would be happy, Mama, Papa. I am living my life to the fullest with a man that I know you approve of.

  She had come out of her trials happier, stronger, and more determined to enjoy her life. Perhaps trials are there for a reason, it roots out whatever is bad, leaving room for all that is good. As Freddi looked at her guests, her family, and finally her husband, she knew that she would never need anything else.

  THE END

  Can't get enough of Molly and Richard? Then make sure to check out the Extended Epilogue to find out…

  What could threaten to destroy our couple’s “happily ever after” and how will they get over the almost tragic experience they will have some years later?

  Freddi is deeply in love with Nash, but how will her relationship with her parents-in-law evolve?

  What could be the healing moment that Freddi will experience, about 12 years later, and what effect will it have on her family’s life from then on?

  Click the link or enter it into your browser

  http://arianorton.com/frederica

  (After reading the Extended Epilogue, turn the page to read the first chapters from “From Prejudice to Love”, my Amazon Best-Selling novel!)

  From Prejudice to Love

  Introduction

  Molly Riordan is a beautiful young lady with Irish roots. Being a tenacious girl, she chose to take education into her own hands after losing her father. So, from a very young age, she has been working her way up in educating younger children. But little does she know that her life is about to change drastically when she gets interviewed by a handsome Earl for the position of the new governess for his orphaned nephews. Will she deny the tender feelings she will start having for her charming employer, fearing they could complicate her work? Or will she let her heart decide what is the right choice?

  Richard Langley is the Earl of Hawkscombe and lives a peaceful life until he receives word that his twin sister and her husband have perished in a tragic accident. When he surprisingly learns that their two boys made it alive, he considers it his duty to take them as his own. However, he could never expect that choosing to hire the Irish governess he initially looked down upon would make him question his own values like no one has ever before. Will he let his prejudice aside, look deep into the lady’s beautiful soul and accept her unconventional methods? Or will he decide that his perfect match should fit into society’s standards and rules?

  Just when Molly and Richard start getting closer to each other, Molly’s sophisticated former employer is about to arrive at the estate, and things will get truly complicated. Who will eventually succeed in capturing the Earl’s heart?

  Chapter 1

  Letter from Richard Langley, Earl of Hawkscombe, to his twin sister, Margaret Wilton

  5 January, 1811

  Dearest Pickle,

  I am in receipt of your letter from 13 November and trust that your journey is going as smoothly as desired. Did I not detect more than a hint of apprehension in your missive regarding traveling from Jamaica by ship? Honestly, Pickle, I’m sure the Royal Navy is more than capable of transporting a decorated general and his wife without incident.

  And speaking of the devil, how is Old Barleyhead anyway? Please give him my regards. I always knew the two of you would be a most appropriate match. You must never question my instinct about these things, dear sister. By the same token, you mustn’t fear that I am to be alone all my life. I appreciate your efforts and the efforts of your fine husband to find me a suitable mate, but I know my own heart. You mustn’t worry, sister, for your own sake.

  Which brings me to my nephews. What’s his name and what’s his name. How are they? Have they asked about their Uncle Richard at all? I ask only because in your letter you mentioned that they cannot seem to stop their gobs for two minutes at a stretch.

  Surely they must have inquired about the exploits of your twin brother. I trust you’ve informed them of the time I bagged that tiger in India. You have no need to mention that he’d got into a barrel of fermenting ale at the time and was positively foxed by the time I happened upon him.

  So, Thomas is ten, and if my math is correct, that means that Simon must have just turned six. How old I feel now, Pickle. Then again, we’ve shared a womb, darling. If I feel old, I can be sure I’m not alone. I do miss those boys. It seems like only yesterday they were climbing all over my person like two little monkeys. How wonderful it would be for me to see them again after five years. They must have quite a few stories to tell about their being stationed in Jamaica like two little junior generals. I cannot wait till you return home, stop by Bridewater, and drop those imps at my feet. I intend to dote on them as if they were my own.

  Oh, I can hear you now, Pickle. You think I am pining for a wife and children of my own. ‘Tis a lie! I have no need for either. I shall join a monastery as of tomorrow. There, now it is settled. Fare thee well, sister.

  Yes, my jesting about the matter reveals my true feelings more so than were I to come right out and say it. Again, darling, I shall find myself a suitable mate and you shall never have to worry about me again. And by the by, it may do you well to remember that it is I who is three minutes older than you!

  As your elder—therefore wiser—brother, I am responsible for your well-being, not the other way around. I have always looked out for you and always will. I did find you a husband, did I not? General John Fitzpatrick Wilton was the pride of His Majesty’s Army, and it was a distinct pleasure to serve under him. I knew as soon as my tour was over that there was none other whom I considered more worthy of the title “brother-in-law”. Please do not tell him I said that. Yo
u have enough problems dealing with those boys of yours. You don’t need a husband with a swelled head to go with them.

  In closing, let me say that once again I have put my mathematical skills to the test and have calculated that, should I post this letter today, it shall arrive at your home not a moment before or after you do! You may count on it, dear Pickle.

  And with that, I beg to remain,

  Your loving brother,

  Swabbie

  Chapter 2

  Richard Langley put down his pen, sat back in his chair, and glanced out of the window of his study. The mighty oaks, steadfast and tenacious, stood together like comrades in arms. He was grateful for their presence. They gave Bridewater mansion a medieval feel of security, and yet the place had none of the cold and dark associated with that bygone era.

  It was an inviting place, or so visitors had told him. Hedgerows trimmed and carved by delicate hands wound about the property, welcoming with green embraces all those who ventured into their domain. The earl’s study, located on the second floor of the house, afforded one the best view, in his opinion, of the acres upon acres of land of which he was so proudly Master.

  He sealed the letter to his twin sister Margaret with a blot of wax and his personal stamp, then left it in the box for the afternoon post. Ayles would come and collect it sure as day. He got up and stretched, feeling the burn in his back from yesterday’s ride. This action roused Shogun, his three-year-old brown and white bulldog. Shogun raised his languid head, snorted all’s well to the air, and then succumbed to gravity once more and the lure of fitful, snoring sleep.

  Richard massaged a knot in his neck. Langley, he said to himself, you’re old. He laughed out loud at this. Twenty-nine was not old by anyone’s standard. But to be sure, there was something about years without a wife at his side that made him feel as though the years themselves had sped up while he himself aged according to God’s laws. It was this strange paradox that made him contemplative at certain times—for instance, when the pains of yesterday’s ride burned in his lower back.

  He would find a bride, and one that suited him. With his father and mother gone, and he the sole master of this fine house, he was beholden to no one. There would be no marriage of convenience for him. He’d narrowly escaped two of them. He’d had the temerity to oppose his father both times and was heartily proud for doing so, no matter what the old man had had to say about it.

  Now, back to business, he thought, and sat back down to settle some affairs that had come to his attention by post the previous morning. Recent tariffs on grain had slowed business in some areas and outright dashed it in others. It was time to get down to it and divert his exports elsewhere. There were no problems for Richard Langley, merely a list of the next things to do.

  He was in the midst of penning a terse letter to his export manager when Fenwick Cheever entered the room. The personal secretary to the earl was five years his senior, and relished the wisdom that five extra years on the earl had afforded him.

  On more than one occasion, Fenwick Cheever had found himself at the end of a serious enquiry about some trade decision or deal. He’d told the earl once—he’d had his tongue loosened by several cups of brandy at the time—that he felt as though he were the grand vizier for some Arabian Nights caliph. He was paid handsomely enough, the earl had responded.

  He was right in thinking himself as such, bloated salary or not, Richard had thought often. Indeed, the man’s presence was always a comfort. As it was now.

  “Fenwick, you glorious man, what can I do for you?”

  “M-m’lord...?”

  “Yes?” said Richard, staring down at his missive, “what is it?”

  “M’lord,” Fenwick said again, this time louder.

  When Richard looked up, he was startled to see Fenwick Cheever in a most distressed state. The man’s pate, normally a smooth, white dome with tufts of scraggly hair about the temples, was moist with perspiration.

  It was bitingly cold outside, and several parts of the house were unreached by fireplaces—like the one from which Fenwick had just come—were otherwise avoided by most of the staff, save for those who traversed them hurriedly, chuffing into cupped hands as they did so. But this man standing before him had not hurried. He was not panting, and yet he was sweating. His face was not urgent, and yet bore signs of something hidden.

  “Good God, man, are you alright?”

  “No, milord.”

  “Are you ill?”

  “No, milord.”

  “Well for Heaven’s sake, Fenwick, what is the matter?”

  The secretary moistened his lips with a dull, dry smack, and took a deep breath.

  “The HMS Beacon, traveling en route to England, was caught in a storm some one hundred miles south of Greenland.”

  Richard felt his heart sink in his chest.

  “The ship’s rigging faltered and she listed and foundered, milord. There were...” Fenwick’s face tightened. “There were no survivors.”

  Chapter 3

  Jeremy Duncan, valet to his lordship, laid out his employer’s things, frowning at the strip of black cloth that would serve as an armband. Perhaps he could tuck this piece of accoutrement away somewhere. Perhaps his lordship would not think of it this day. It had been two months since the dreaded news of his beloved twin’s passing reached his ear. When would it be over?

  Surely there was something in the man that would not let him end his mourning a moment too early, for his sister’s sake. To do so would be to admit he’d moved on without her. There had been some grace in the tragedy, at any rate. The man’s nephews had been spared a watery grave.

  It was a story that could have filled seats at a melodrama. The ship destroyed during a hellish tempest. The father cast overboard whilst trying to procure a lifeboat for his wife and children. Then, mother and children go over, and mother finds a splintered piece of crate for the children to float on. There is no room for her on the slab, and so she stays in the water, treading while her children shiver. Her dress becomes weighted down, and her strength gives out, and she sinks while her children fall into icy slumber.

  By the grace of God, the captain of the ship, heeding not to that vile dictum that a captain should go down with his vessel—for life must endure no matter what—chanced upon the children while searching for survivors, and dragged them into his lifeboat. An apt name for that most humble of vessels.

  Duncan ran his hand over the fine silk. Were such things even useful to a dear one’s memory? They lived in the heart, after all, not on the arm. He held the thing aloft, inspecting it for any signs of stain or lint, then, on impulse, went to the top drawer of his lordship’s armoire and threw it in.

  He heard the lord approaching, and began to shuffle in place. Jeremy Duncan stood debating internally, his mind afire. As his lordship’s footsteps progressed to within three feet of the door to the room, Duncan gave in to his ingrained sense of morality—not to mention his much-later-in-life ingrained sense of duty—and retrieved the cloth from the drawer, laying it out with the other clothes.

  “Hello, milord,” he said cheerfully. “And how are you this morning?”

  “I’m well. Thank you, Duncan,” came the perfunctory response.

  It was a question only a fool would ask, thought Duncan. The man had not smiled for two months. He’d lost weight as well. His normal six feet of height was nothing without the robustness of chest that the man had formally possessed. He appeared shaven and shorn, as always, with the auburn hair of his lineage catching spare rays of early morning sun and glowing like embers. But anyone could see, as Jeremy Duncan saw now, that the neatness of the man’s appearance only served to smooth out the rigid angles of his suffering. The man had a tattered soul within him, and it was as clear as the late winter frost that glazed the expanse of the lawn outside.

  “I was thinking, milord, that a nice dinner with some friends would be the ticket.”